


The Horse Book

by Kyriptid



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23415514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyriptid/pseuds/Kyriptid
Summary: Ashe is braving the abandoned tower again. He has not gained a single shred of confidence since the last time he was here.
Kudos: 9
Collections: FE3H Drabbles <3





	The Horse Book

**Author's Note:**

> Another short one shot based on the prompt in my server.   
> Ashe: He watched helplessly as the door closed behind him/her.  
> Ufufufufu....

Ashe tiptoed around shards of walls and glass, his boots occasionally causing some window pieces to crunch loudly. Each time they did, he winced and flung his head around wildly. It was silly to be so quiet and careful in the abandoned tower, but he was NOT taking any chances with getting jumped in the suffocating darkness. The only light he had at the moment was the one from the lantern in his hand, swaying with each hesitant pace he advanced. He had propped the door open behind him by stabbing a rusted lance into the ground in front of the rotting wood, swearing to himself he would not be caught in the tower with no escape again. 

Not since the  _ incident _ . 

A  fluttering of tiny feet caused him to freeze in his tracks, back as taut as his bow before firing. He could not see it, but the faint noises of squeaking and rummaging eased his nerves enough to continue his pace. 

It was just a mouse. Just a mouse. 

The shadows around him looked like they were constantly moving in his peripherals. He knows  it's just his mind playing tricks on him. He  _ knows  _ it isn't real. 

_ He knows he doesn't hear footsteps mirroring his behind him.  _

He whipped his head around, swinging his lantern haphazardly behind him in a hasty attempt to reveal whoever was shadowing him. 

Nothing. Just cobwebs and dust floating carefree along the gentle breeze funneling through the open door. 

_ Why did it have to be a new moon tonight??? _

Ashe forced himself to swallow, wincing slightly at how dry his throat had become in the last few minutes. Only after making for absolute  certainty that no one was following him, he swivelled his shoulders back forward and pressed onward, deeper into the darkness of the building. 

_ Crack. Crick.  _

_ Crunch. _

_ Scrooch. _

Every step he took seemed to elicit some traitorous noise from underfoot. He sent  _ many  _ prayers to the goddess that he was not giving his location away to an unseen enemy. Her inbox must be slammed by now from him alone. 

The flickering flames of his lamp revealed the edge of a wall, coated in leafy grime and spider corpses. Ashe shivered. Beyond the wall was another gaping maw of a hallway, this time rounding off to the left. He swept his gaze downwards. Stairs. 

Oh great. He found the stairs to the second floor. 

He  pleaded with his body to stop quaking long enough to ascend the steps. He had to duck most of the way, as precariously heavy curtains of spider webs draped down from nearly every inch of the ceiling above. A small part of his brain thanked the goddess for withholding his growth in the height department until now. The rest of his brain was unavailable. 

His frame violently shook on instinct as the faint sensation of something brushing the top of his hair came to his attention. He knows  it's just the webs. Nothing is above him except for that. 

He knows the tiny phantom legs making their way down the back of his neck weren't real. 

He knows the whisper of a touch against the back of his ear was just a figment of his imagination. 

He knows the tickle at his temple was just his mind playing-

_ "KYAAAAAAAAA!!!" _

His chest had erupted with his screams before he could even process his terror. In a wild attempt to toss his assailant off of him, he swung his arms to either side of him and bolted up the stairs, ducking his torso down as far to his knees as he could without tripping. That isn't to say he did not trip. No, he tripped several times in the last few steps to the second floor. He had also managed to snag almost every web above him in his flight. His arms were coated in webs and dead bugs and leaves and he was mortified. Once he was in the room he had been aiming for, he spun in circles, clawing at the silk clinging stubbornly to his sleeves. He sent a hand up to smack the back of his head every time he thought he felt legs scuttling across his nape. 

After several minutes of panic he had managed to peel off the webs from his sleeves, only for it all to be caught under his nails and wrapped about his hands. He shook them about feverishly, face having long dampened from terrified tears. The lantern had long been flung from his grasp and laid across the room coated in new swathes of silk. If he were any more sane in the moment, he would have felt thankful that he had brought a lantern and not an open flame like a candle. But he was not, so instead he was wiping his hands down his shorts and trembling madly. 

A whistling noise dragged his mind from its crazed stupor, and he glanced over to the singular window letting in the nonexistent light from the night sky. The wind had picked up. Wonderful. As his metaphorical hackles began to settle and his shoulders relaxed minutely he gathered the wherewithal to retrieve his lamp from the corner it had been tossed into. He was endlessly grateful the flame had not gone out despite the glass protecting it being smashed to pieces. He had to fight to tear it from its silky prison, but the task proved much easier the second time through. Having slightly steadier hands tends to do that, huh.

Once he had his body and mind back in control, he pushed himself back up to his feet and examined the room. 

A lot of books were strewn about the floor. A few used napkins with days old crumbs collected on the edges. A plate with a half eaten sandwich. Someone had been here, confirming he was not being toyed with when being asked to retrieve something from the tower. Sylvain had asked him to get one of Linhardt's books from the top floor that was left behind. He said Dimitri had asked him to do it, as Linhardt had complained about leaving his textbook behind the previous morning. Sylvain didn't want to do it and claimed he had a previous date to uphold. And, given how easy it is to get Ashe to do things for you, Sylvain dumped the mission onto him. 

Hence why Ashe was braving this goddess awful room all for some silly horse riding textbook. 

Why couldn't Linhardt come up to get it himself??? Sure, he knew he should be kind to his classmates, even if they're originally from different houses, but… 

Well. Ashe has personal reasons why he doesn't want to be here. 

But here he is anyways. 

Ashe shifted the musty books perched on the singular shelf at the back of the room enough to make the space for his lantern. He tucked it in between some basic fire tomes and turned his attention to the floor. Knowing Linhardt, it would not be anywhere considered "organized" or "responsible".

With his hands on his hips he scoured the ground around him for any trace of the book cover displaying an anatomical depiction of a steed. He pushed short stacks of books over with the toe of his boot, unwilling to bend down closer quite yet. His heart was still racing from the earlier fiasco!

After what felt like an eternity of finding what seemed like the same damn book fifty times he spotted a hoof poking out from under a plate of pastry remains. 

He knelt down next to it and lifted the dish to confirm his discovery. 

The textbook. 

He didn't bother muffling his sigh of relief, hands working to pull the book up from its resting spot on the floor. The dust around the edges of it told Ashe it had been sitting there for quite some time. How had Linhardt been able to get away with not having it for so long??? 

He shelved the thought for later and hauled himself back to his feet. His pulse caused him to stumble a little, dizzy from the blood rushing from his head to his feet. The moment passed, though, and he retrieved his lantern to leave. 

The walk down the  stairwell was far less eventful. He  _ had  _ torn down nearly every web on the way up from about the halfway point. 

As he ducked under the last string of silk guarding the exit, the sound of creaking and inanimate groaning caught his attention. The wind had really picked up. All the better, he thought to himself. He'd take the moaning of the wind over the silence any day of the week. 

As he drew about halfway through the entryway, he noticed the lance he had used to prop the door open was now bent at an odd angle. The door, with the force of the wind behind it, had nearly snapped it in two. 

He must be pretty lucky it had waited for him to make it down before giving out. 

He slipped around smashed chairs and the remnants of a tea set on his trek to the doorway, one arm hugging the book to his chest and his other hand extending his source of light before him. A few paces from the exit a powerful wind slammed into the building and through the entryway. Now that his flame was unprotected, it was easily snuffed out in one single waft. Ashe was a touch unnerved, but he only doubled his pace to reach the door. 

Except the lance decided, in that moment,  _ "You know what? Screw you." _ and completely shattered at the handle. The door crashed closed right in his face, sending the entire room into utter darkness. 

The following silence was only lessened by the cries of the wind slipping through cracks in the walls and gutters. 

".....fuck."


End file.
